Wssh
by Aroara
Summary: A Sherlock Fashion Au: Yes its the fic you've been searching for your entire life. Read and wonder over how things could possibly work out when you realise that John is in love with Sherlock, Sherlock is in love with Moriarty, and Moriarty? Head over heels for John. Will any of them survive the deadly world of fashion. Probably not. But who knows. Who knows...(This is real serious)
1. Chapter 1

**Ever since this show first aired we all knew this day would come. How could it not? With such beautiful actors, a fashion au was unavoidable.**

 **But though you may gasp in shock when you read this, this story is NOT all about the fashion. It is also about the confusing love of three men trying desperately to navigate a love triangle.**

 **Yes, you heard me a love triangle. Not those wishy-washy love arrows. No, this is a full-on** _ **TRIANGLE**_ **! (ILLUMINATI CONFIRMED! THE WORLD IS OVER! MOFFAT IS BROBAMA)**

 **This story will feature all ships so please do not be alarmed.**

 **Wssh**

 **Chapter 1**

John took a deep breath to calm himself as his friend Mike put the final touches on his makeup and re-adjusted his jumper.

With bright eyes, Mike jumped back and examined him closely.

"Oh, they're going to _love_ you. You're going to make Holmes and Moriarty _drool_ all over their million dollar _suits_. I'm telling you! Your modelling career is set!"

Though Mike was flamboyant and excessively dramatic if there was such a thing. He was right. People did seem to love him.

They called him a sensation in the magazines. The first short cat walk model. A stealer of hearts. A rebel. A rogue (when he'd attempted the moustache look). Yet he didn't feel like any of that now as he stared at his drawn reflection. Though the makeup had covered up the bags under his eyes since they were going for a more natural look he was still hauntingly pale. Some might say he was attempting a Sherlock look but no. This was leagues from angelic Sherlock Holmes pale. Not to mention John's lack of cheekbones, flooshy hair or angsty pensive gaze. How could he call himself a model without these important characteristics that defined the business? How could he hope to-

"I can't _believe WSSH_ and _SO ARTY_ are actually _here_ " another model exclaimed giddily exciting a from across the room, drawing sequels from her companions.

Trying to ignore the other model's excited gibberish, John's eyes moved to his feet as a doubt gripped him in one manicured hand.

"I don't know…maybe this was a bad idea. What if I'm just not cut out for this? I don't want to be a glittery disaster in front of _them_. And I mean I can't even pull off winged eyeliner- "

He was cut off by a finger slamming against his lips and an abrupt _ssh_. Mike was glaring at him, his mouth a hardened burgundy lipstick covered line.

"You are not doing this now John. We both have worked far too hard get you here. And you want to back _out_? This is your _dream_! _Be a man_ and try and live it. Or be a coward and run just because one kind of _eyeliner_ doesn't suit you." Mike was practically spitting now and John knew there was no going back.

"Okay"

"Besides "Mike continued calmer now, "you're about to meet the man you've had a crush on your entire life! _William Sherlock Scott Holmes_. The pinnacle of fashion! People would kill for that opportunity."

John froze, the words like a kick to the gut. Memories hit him like rain on paper, making him feel as if he were about to fall apart at any moment.

 _Kill for that opportunity._

The flash of a knife. The surge of the mob. The manic gleam in the fangirl's eyes. The blood. All the blood, everywhere. The screams-

John bit his lip as a singular salty tear rolled down his cheek. He had learned to control those memories, but it was impossible to ignore the eternally aching wound in his shoulder from the attack.

It was Mike's turn to look uncertain. "I-I'm sorry John, that was a terrible choice of words. I didn't mean to-"

"Forget it." Somehow John managed to keep his voice steady but he was aware of the coldness that emanated there. "I've moved on."

With that John turned on his heel and left the dressing room, drawing his mind back to more important things as he found his seat. No sooner had his defined butt touched his seat that the lights dimmed and the show began.

As usual SO ARTY started things off with a bang. That meant flashing lights, scantly dressed bow tied men and a hell ton of glitter. Moriarty liked to leave his mark on the cat walk. The glitter was infamous for being almost impossible to get rid of.

As everyone knew, James Moriarty's brand specialised in business wear mostly suits. Glorious, godly suits. Suits that the man himself and his poise were about to showcase.

With another flash of red light there came a bang so loud John felt it vibrate through his skull shaking sparkling teeth. John had never been sure why that happened considering the death like silence that always followed _his_ entrance. Dark eyes and a half smile that danced across soft lips.

John had never thought Moriarty was as beautiful as Sherlock but he would never say that there wasn't an aura of almost godly otherness about him. His brown eyes were so dark they seemed all pupil. And they shone like two distant, lonely stars. Stars that people might wish on but then suddenly remember that they believed the earth was flat and that they were going to be murdered by a man in a purple shirt if they ever said the word 'pie'. He had very specific types of eyes.

Moriarty let out a soft laugh as the noises of cameras snapping started up, and his smile grew to the one that was even more well known then the glitter. The smile that could snatch the heart of every man and woman in the room.

It was a 'the devil may care' smile. A smile that said he knew something you didn't. A smile that drew you in as much as his abyss like eyes. A smile that was now aimed straight at John.

John's heart stopped like a deer in headlights in his chest as he realised that this was actually happening _._ James 'Jim'Moriarty was staring right at him. _And_ smiling His boyfriend Sebastian Moran was still flexing behind him among the rest of the poise but it was like they weren't even there. It was like the world was there. John felt something hot burst to life in his chest but it was like Moriarty could see right through him. With a win and a amused grin he turned away. And John's heart thundered to life once more.

It felt like an eternity till SO ARTY left the catwalk by then the confusion that world around John's head had left him dizzy.

Had Moriarty really just-? Had John felt something?

No, it couldn't be true. He had feelings for only one man. A man that was no right in front of him in the flesh.

John's mouth went dry. He'd never before seen him live. Every fashion shoot sold out within seconds, with fan's and press alike. All wanting to know the real him.

John had read all the online theories.

About Shelock's past relationships, with Moriarty, with Molly Hooper. About his relentless stalker Anderson. About whether or not he hated his fans.

John had read it all.

Regardless if the stories were true or not about Sherlock being cold, ruthless and inhuman, John had always seen him as kind and passionate even if evidence disagreed.

Maybe he was biased but John could feel it in his heart that Sherlock was, had to be a good man.

If not at least he was a gorgeous one.

WSSH's catwalk was simple. The lighting was low, there was no glitter and the only sound was a soft distance dripping noises of water. It was as if it were set in some dark, dangerous alleyway.

Sherlock began his walk. Alone as always.

He was as tall as he was in the photos, simple well-crafted shoes adorning his feet. He wore slim fitting jeans that accentuated his legs and a casual if not hipster shirt and waistcoat. The outfit was normal and everyday but somehow on this man or god it looked regal.

Maybe it was his snow coloured skin. Gossip suggested he'd played Snow White on Broadway. Or the way his black curls bounced, barely held down by a black fedora. Or his piercing blue eyes that only skimmed the audience but a meer flash cleansed John's soul.

With an impertinent look he reached the end of the catwalk and pulled the hat from his head tossing it into the audience. His curly black locks cascaded over his cheekbones. The contrast between his soft hair and marble carved cheekbones made him look more than a man.

"You could cut yourself slapping him." John heard a breathless woman whisper behind him. John agreed but only a sigh escaped his lips in reply

As Sherlock passed John breathed in, just catching the slight sent of coffee, black pepper and the smell of rusted metal imported from Mexico that had been left in the rain outside a Starbucks too long. Those were John's three favourite scents, he even had them all as candles. Yes, even the coffee one.

But even as John soaked him in he was gone.

Which was when John remembered why he was really here

Now it was his turn.

 **The more reviews there is, the more beautiful the next chapter will be.**


	2. Chapter 2

**That's right fanfiction wanderers, chapter 2. I hope you're ready to plunge back into the dangerous world of lipstick and fashionable shoes.**

 **Wssh Chapter 2**

 **John Watson**

His heart was racing like a dozen stallions cantering down Broadway. And not seeming to tire, his pulse continued to pound in his ears as he made his way backstage and prepared to walk the walk.

He sucked in a breath.

 _I can do this. I can do this. If I can kill off a few Sherlock obsessed fangirls, then I can do this._

 _ **John why did you have to murder them?**_ The angel on his shoulder asked sadly.

 _I told you before it was self-defence._ He replied crossly, wondering why this had to happen now.

 _ **John, the hedgehog cosplaying you've been doing doesn't appear to be good for your metal state. Next thing you know; you'll grow a moustache.**_

 _Don't be silly, I'd only do that after a tragedy._

Before they could converse more, a man in a jacket grabbed him by the shoulder and steered him up onto the stage.

"And now we begin our showcase of the new upcoming models all desperate for employment." The announcer began. "Starting with 'warm and cosy' featuring…JOHN WATSON!"

 _There should be a doctor in there somewhere_ his mind pointed out.

There was an awkward smatter of applause before the man in the jacket motioned for him to move. Taking a breath John tried to ignore the fear coiled like a snake in his stomach and stepped out into the limelight.

 **Jim Moriarty**

 _There should be a doctor in there somewhere_ Moriaty's mind pointed out. Whenever he himself was introduced there had always been a tendency for people to forget his title of 'Professor'. He had never bothered to correct them, mostly because he was aware it would not stop the event reoccurring.

People tended to act in a predictable way when they saw him. Their eyes would go wide; their jaws slack. A sharp intake of breath would soon follow before an awe filled gasp of "…Moriarty." Moriarty had long since accepted this would be how he was to be received and introduced, maybe that was why he had so certainly believed that Sebastian was the man for him. A man who didn't stare at him in constant awe. He was the perfect boyfriend, who could be better. He had admittedly once considered Sherlock when they had briefly dated but never anyone else…until now.

Moriarty gazed expressionlessly over at his boyfriend. He was tweeting again, a dull habit he appeared to have picked up from the other models he had employed. From the positioning of his shoulders Moriarty knew he was giving some hapless celebrity fashion advice. Again.

Sebastian had sharp eyes and an almost heartless demeanour. Both were some of the reasons he had been employed. Both were some of the reasons they had started dating. Both were traits that Moriarty believed his 'type' had to have. Yet now…now he had the strangest of feelings in his gut as he watched John Watson make his way steadily down the catwalk.

Hedgehogs were oxymorons, and John Watson was clearly a hedgehog. His posture was near perfect, he looked like a battle hardened solider. As if hitting him would feel like punching steal. Yet at the same time he looked soft, fluffy. His jumper made him seem almost like a little cloud floating along. He seemed _warm and cosy_.

One part of Jim's mind immediately went into business mode. His line of clothing was too formal for this day and age. Too set in one type of affair to reach the wider audience he needed. And his models, all perfect, rugged specimens, completely and utterly wrong for the task of wearing the warm and cuddly line that would have to come in for autumn and winter.

John Watson, on the other hand, was perfect. Maybe he could even wear his new brand of shoes. He had briefly discussed it with a few advisors and they all seemed to believe shoes that 'looked' like they were made of human skin was too advanced for this day and age. Jim completely disagreed, did they not understand how vintage one could look wearing Shakespeare's skin on their feet?

Regardless John Watson would be a nice new muse. His old one wouldn't stop shuddering in terror every time he entered the room.

John Watson had reached the end of the catwalk and was making his way back up, hips swaying. Jim was examining his technique when he caught Sherlock staring at him across the room. Moriarty couldn't stop his signature smile spreading across his face. Unable to stop himself he blew a kiss at his old boyfriend's expressionless face.

Maybe he was imagining it but he thought he saw red spilling across Sherlock's sharp cheekbones. Jim snapped his fingers.

"Seb."

"Yes Jim?" Sebastian asked turning to look at him. He held Sherlock's gaze for a final second then grabbed Sebastian's jaw and kissed him hard.

 **John Watson**

"Mr Holmes and Mr Moriarty wish to speak to you."

John's heart leaped in his chest, like when the cow jumped over the moon.

"Right then, lead the way." He replied, managing not to stutter.

He was led through several backstage hallways before they reached a sparse dressing room where both _the_ Sherlock and _the_ Moriarty stood ignoring each other.

"There you are." Sherlock's voice was cool and low as he stepped towards John, collar upturned on his coat, making him seem even more brooding than ever.

"Jim Moriarty, hi." Moriarty also moved closer to him, his pose noticeable in comparison to Sherlock standing on his own, "I have a proposition for you."

"As do I." Sherlock interjected, throwing Moriarty a hard stare.

Ignoring you Moriarty continued. A sharp smile on his face, his Irish accent more noticeable than ever, "Sebastian here noticed you- "

"I did?" Sebastian interrupted, looking confused.

"-and brought you to my attention, and I think you could be the perfect new addition to **So Arty.** My business is in need of a person of your skill set, but if you join us you will not just be giving. Oh no, we can provide more training to improve your skills and top of the range modelling opportunities people only dream of.Your popularity will rise rocket fast and in no time you'll have fanboys hiding in the bushes outside your apartment hoping to get fashion tips. What do you say?"

John opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock got there first.

"Moran suggested him? When was that exactly? During your extensive make out session."

Moriarty pouted, "Jealousy doesn't suit you Sherlock, it makes this vein in your neck pop a bit. "

"We all know you would have killed to be in my place." Sebastian added smugly.

Sherlock turned his cold gaze on Sebastian, a sense of disgust suddenly radiating from him, "Is your hand trembling Moran? Haven't smoked in a few hours have you? Trying to cut back, eh? Jim here does hate the smell, but I suppose all that gambling you've been doing has got you a tad nervous. Hmm? Losing a lot of money. After all, why would you be wearing a three seasons old suit when you went shopping…yesterday from the price tag still on your shoes. You're clearly planning to return those to save money and- "

"Seb." Moriarty ordered, at the exact moment feral rage exploded on Sebastian face and he took a threatening step forward.

It was Sherlock's turn to give the opposition a smug smile.

"Anyway, John, I want you to be my partner not employee."

For a moment John couldn't breathe. Partner? Equal? Never in his wildest dreams had he ever considered something like this.

"I-I yes. Of course yes."

The room was completely silent before Sherlock swept past.

"Let's go Watson."

John turned nervously back to face Moriarty who was staring at him expressionless. He had never realised how terrifying his black eyes were.

"I'm sorry- "John began.

"No, no honey. I underestimated you. My offer still stands though; if **WSSH** turns out not to appeal to you please come and visit." Moriarty gave him one last smile before he and his pose made their way out the door.

What John didn't see was that smile evaporated before Moriarty even reached the door.

 **If theres any specific character you want me to include go ahead and tell me, but remember that a bro and a Obama are only complete together.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the break fanfic wanderers, this fic just got too emotional as well as the fact SEASON 4 IS SOOOOON**

 **Wssh Chapter 3**

Sherlock's Holmes's studio was definitely not what John had been expecting, that was for sure.

For starters, it was a little flat on the upper floors of a house on Baker Street, not the penthouse in Chelsea he'd been expecting.

Secondly it was dusty, cluttered and smelled like hot glue. His small sitting room was crowded with fashion magazines spilling over every flat surface. His blackened fireplace looked like it was used often, and he spotted half charred cut outs of different outfits, poking out of the ashes.

There was a skull on the mantel piece.

John found himself transfixed by it. It stood out, glinting in the ring lights that were dotted around the room.

He had a few fangirl skulls of his own. Maybe that would be a good thing to do with them.

 _Don't you dare_ the angel on his shoulder hissed.

"Who's that?" John asked as Sherlock flung his iconic coat carelessly on one of two armchairs, revealing a sleek in-season suit.

Sherlock glanced up through his dark curly locks.

"Oh, an old friend," he frowned, "well when I say friend-"

"Sherlock, you got foundation all over my sinks again, next time I won't be cleaning it up I'm not your-oh who's this?"

John span round to find himself face to face with a small fashionably dressed woman.

"John this is Mrs Hudson, my secretary, landlady and not housekeeper. Mrs Hudson, this is John Watson the new addition to the Wssh agency. He'll be staying with us from now on."

 _I was?_ John felt an unexpected thrill of excitement run through him. Living with _the_ Sherlock Holmes. Wow…

 _No John this is a_ _ **working**_ _relationship_ the angel on his shoulder interjected.

 _Sooooo_ the devil slouched on his other replied, _you never know…_

"Well there's an extra room upstairs, if you'll be needing two."

John felt his jaw drop, his mental fantasies slipping into reality.

"Ah no, I'm-I'm-" well no, that would be a lie, his mind scrambled for another answer, "he's not my type."

All of a sudden, he wanted to sink through the floor. Why couldn't Sherlock have lived in a swamp.

They were both staring at him disbelief in their eyes.

"I- "

Of course Sherlock was his type, he was everyone's type.

"Bring us tea, Mrs Hudson, would you?" Sherlock interrupted, no longer looking at him.

Mrs Hudson snorted, "Not your housekeeper."

Sherlock sighed, beginning to close the door. "That's right you're a flamingo dancer."

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson began to retort but the tall model had already slammed it in her face.

"Come." He ordered turning away and heading into the kitchen.

John felt like a bichon fries, or a well-trained hedgehog as he followed him. Maybe he should have brought his costume.

"This is where I work." Sherlock spread his arms like the Angel of the North, but his blue eyes remained fixed on his face as if waiting for judgement.

The kitchen table was covered in what looked like lab equipment, while 3 mannequins stood around the room half clothed.

"It's nice." And it was, compared to other studios he'd seen that labelled themselves with _hipster_ terms such as _minimalistic_ , _eco-friendly_ , and _this-is-a-school-sir-get-out_ , it really was fashionable and aesthetically pleasing.

Sherlock nodded, expressionless but John thought he seemed pleased.

"I'll show you your room then." Sherlock began to turn.

"Why is there science equipment on your table." John had found his eyes drawn back to t.

Sherlocked stilled, hand resting on the door frame.

"You-you don't want to know." His voice was lower than before, edged with a never-ending sadness as unmeasurable as there are drops of water in the sea.

John, moved by his tone stepped forward and placed a hand on his taunt shoulder.

"I do."

Sherlock turned to face him, head angled down to look him in the eye.

"It's part of my tragic backstory." He whispered.

"I don't care." Their lips were inches apart. The tiniest movement and-

Sherlock averted his eyes, stepping back.

"I-I wanted to be a detective when I was younger. I was smart, really smart." The words rushed out of him, his shame obvious. " And though my grades were extraordinary, no college would accept me. Not one. Especially not when they heard what I wanted to study. I tried other methods, going to Scotland Yard itself, but the result was the same." His fists clenched at his sides. The wound so obviously still fresh.

"But why."

Sherlock shook his head, a cold laughing erupting from his tightly pressed lips, like a seal going after a penguin about to go for a swim in the Artic.

"Isn't it obvious?" He gestured at himself. "My attractiveness is god-level. My cheekbones like blades. My skin porcelain. My hair the colour of raven's wings but as soft as a cherub's. My eyes are the colour of the unpolluted parts of the Mediterranean Sea, and they are shadowed by lashes that would make any mascara selling company cry because it would put them out of business. They didn't want me to get hurt. I was too beautiful."

And it was true, so very true.

"But I haven't given up, one day, when this is done, I will work in law enforcement. I'll show them all. And look hot as the fourth circle of hell while doing it." The latter part at least would be true, Sherlock's new illuminati line had come out only last month.

With that John's new partner turned and headed towards what was presumably his bedroom. Forgetting to show John to his own.

 **So I'll have something from Moriarty next chapter, maybe even Seb in you're interested. Or even better some fanatic fans for John to fight off with a baseball bat while on the set of a zombie movie. Spooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiiiillleeeeeeeeeeersss.**


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